th
yesterday's mud on your cassock! If you had left it out on the banister,
it would be clean now--it's still a good one. But do lift it up well
when you cross any field. The thistles tear everything.'

While speaking she kept turning him round like a child, shaking him from
head to foot with her energetic brushing.

'There, there, that will do,' he said, escaping from her at last. 'Take
care of Desiree, won't you? I will tell her I am going out.'

But at this minute a fresh clear voice called to him: 'Serge! Serge!'

Desiree came flying up, her cheeks ruddy with glee, her head bare,
her black locks twisted tightly upon her neck, and her hands and arms
smothered up to the elbows with manure. She had been cleaning out her
poultry house. When she caught sight of her brother just about to go out
with his breviary under his arm, she laughed aloud, and kissed him on
his mouth, with her arms thrown back behind her to avoid soiling him.

'No, no,' she hurriedly exclaimed, 'I should dirty you. Oh! I am having
such fun! You must see the animals when you come back.'

Thereupon she fled away again. Abbe Mouret then said that he would be
back about eleven for luncheon, and as he started, La Teuse, who had
followed him to the doorstep, shouted after him her last injunctions.

'Don't forget to see Brother Archangias. And look in also at the
Brichets'; the wife came again yesterday about that wedding. Just
listen, Monsieur le Cure! I met their Rosalie. She'd ask nothing better
than to marry big Fortune. Have a talk with old Bambousse; perhaps he
will listen to you now. And don't come back at twelve o'clock, like the
other day. Come, say you'll be back at eleven, won't you?'

But the priest turned round no more. So she went in again, growling
between her teeth:

'When does he ever listen to me? Barely twenty-six years old and does
just as he likes. To be sure, he's an old man of sixty for holiness; but
then he has never known life; he knows nothing, it's no trouble to him
to be as good as a cherub!'

IV

When Abbe Mouret had got beyond all hearing of La Teuse he stopped,
thankful to be alone at last. The church was built on a hillock, which
sloped down gently to the village. With its large gaping windows and
bright red tiles, it stretched out like a deserted sheep-cote. The
priest turned round and glanced at the parsonage, a greyish building
springing from the very side of the church; but as if fearful that
he might